


Fade

by mevima



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Angst, Blood Magic, Fluff, Gore, M/M, faerie tales
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-18
Updated: 2015-09-18
Packaged: 2018-04-21 08:36:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,138
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4822442
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mevima/pseuds/mevima
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fighting the blood mages which are far too present in Kirkwall, Anders gets hit with a mage's last desperate strike, a strange blood magic version of a sleep spell. He and Justice are trapped in the Fade until Hawke can figure out how to fix it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fade

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Kess](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kess/gifts).



> Kess requested a faerie tale themed fic. I hope something (very) vaguely structured around "Sleeping Beauty" fits the bill!

It was a nervous habit, but Hawke couldn't bring himself to stop. Watching Anders obsessively throughout every fight had probably caused as much damage as it saved, as he would turn his back on a target to intercept anyone who dared lay a weapon - or a harsh glance - on his healer. As he fought, slashing and blocking with vicious precision, he tried his best to keep the hypnotic motion of a staff and accompanying bright flashes of magic in sight in the corner of his eye.

So when Anders was struck with a curl of insidious red energy and collapsed bonelessly to the ground, Hawke was right there within seconds, slicing his greatsword through the arm of the blood mage who had cast it. Magic dissipated from the air immediately as the girl screamed and clutched at the rivers of blood streaming down her shoulder, trying frantically and hopelessly to keep the near-severed limb intact. Deep in battle rage and bloodlust, Hawke had no room to wonder at just how young these mages always were, young and desperate and turning to demons to keep themselves safe, along with just how so _many_ of them surfaced in Kirkwall.

He ended her life with one more savage stroke, and wrenched the greatsword out of the dead girl's ribcage a second later, surveying the battlefield as he turned to run to Anders' side. The fight was practically over - Fenris had the last mage cornered and Isabela's soaked daggers were ready to assist - so he dismissed any other concerns from his mind and skidded to a halt beside Anders' still body.

Kneeling, Hawke surveyed the mage's state but couldn't spot any overt damage. Usually managing to stay back from the combat, Anders never needed the amount of laundering the rest of them did so he didn't even see any blood. Still, the man was unconscious at least, and Hawke refused to allow himself worry as he stripped a gauntlet off and pressed bare fingers to Anders' throat. A pulse. Good. And he was breathing. He let out a sigh he didn't know he was holding, and groped at his belt for a healing potion.

Hawke was vaguely aware of Fenris and Isabela thoroughly searching the bodies behind him for useful goods as he pried Anders' loose mouth open and forced the potion down his throat. He waited nervously, but didn't see any change. Of course he didn't see any change, there weren't any wounds for the potion to be healing. He forced himself to be patient, but couldn't stop his nervous hands clenching and unclenching in his lap.

After several minutes, the worry came bubbling back up again, unable to be suppressed. The potion wasn't working. The potion wasn't working but Anders was still breathing, still alive, so it must be something else, but he wasn't a healer - his healer was unconscious in front of him and what else was he supposed to try? Hawke smoothed his bare hand over Anders' cheek, and slapped him gently, but there was no response.

"Hey, what happened?" Isabela's concerned voice startled him, and Hawke blinked, quickly realizing they had finished their looting and come up behind him unnoticed. "I sort of expected our tall and feathered friend to be on his feet by now."

"He was hit with some sort of spell. I don't know what's wrong," Hawke frowned. "He's not injured. He's breathing, and I fed him a potion, but..." Trailing off, he gestured helplessly. "This is not my kind of thing."

"Magic? I should hope not," Fenris snorted, then continued, "I think we're done here. We should head back. I'm sure your pet abomination will be fine."

It was a testament to Hawke's distress that he didn't even respond to Fenris' habitual insult, just tucked his discarded gauntlet into his belt and carefully lifted the healer's body from the floor.

*

While he didn't know any other healers, this was definitely a blood magic thing, and so Hawke sent for Merrill. Anders was laid out across his bed, above the plush coverlet, for all appearances having a pleasant nap, while Merrill hovered nervously above him, attempting to figure out exactly what had happened.

"It's like he's permanently sleeping," she mused. "Like a bit of blood magic has taken his mind and locked it into the Fade. I suppose Justice is trapped there too, or he would be out here instead, yes? Oh, this is terribly frustrating." Her hands twitched above Anders' body, as if she could analyze the magic better if she could touch it. "I can almost... I might be able to break it? I think? But I could hurt him. Maybe it'll wear off."

Hawke made an unhappy grunt and very purposefully kept his hands away so Merrill could concentrate, no matter how much he wished he had contact, an attempt to bridge the gap to where Anders currently resided. "Maybe? You're not sure?"

"I'm not - it might..." Merrill trailed off, concentrating, then her brows suddenly shot up. "Oh!" she exclaimed, and Hawke nearly jumped out of his chair, he was so on edge.

"What? What is it?" he demanded, before she had a chance to continue.

"There's a trigger! There usually is, with - with mind control, which I most certainly haven't done I have only researched it!" The tiny elf maiden shook her head, as if to brush off accusations. "But... I can't tell what it is. I'm sorry." She sat back, relaxing with a little sigh.

"So... what does that mean?" Hawke asked slowly, trying to translate Merrill's speech through his too-vague knowledge of magical workings.

"Oh - a trigger, yes. It means there is something you can do, or say, and it will break the hold. Break the enchantment. It's locked into the spell - usually prepared with something in mind, in advance, so that the caster doesn't have to come up with it on the spot." Merrill's speech smoothed out as she relaxed into her explanation, then shrugged, looking concerned. "But I can't tell what it is. That's too detailed. I'm sorry."

Hawke sighed, and ran a hand through his hair. It was not enough and still more than he had hoped for. "That's all right, Merrill," he said gently. "Thank you. Truly. Can you... see yourself out?" He really didn't want to leave Anders' side.

"Oh, of course!" Merrill shot up, as if she had overstayed her welcome. "I'm... sorry I couldn't... maybe it _will_ wear off."

As the Dalish girl rushed out the door of his bedroom, still apologizing, Hawke sighed again, and leaned forward to rest his arms on the bed. He picked up one of Anders' hands, smoothing his fingers over the freckled skin and turning it from side to side, trying to think of where to start. A trigger. There was a way to wake his lover up, and he was going to figure it out.

*

"Wake up. Awaken! Fuck you - fuck _me_. Blood magic? Um. Hail demons of the Fade? Desire, rage, fear, uh... pride. Please wake up?" Hawke cast around for other words to try as the spell's trigger, feeling ridiculous, awkward and uncomfortable in the silence of his bedroom. "Venhedis." For the first time, he truly regretted not knowing any other languages, but he hadn't gotten a good look at the blood mage anyway and couldn't recall where she may have been from.

Hawke tried everything he could think of. The obvious: he shook Anders; slapped him, gently at first and then again, hard, feeling the sting in his hand and regretful that he had hurt his lover and it still hadn't worked; splashed water across his face and then dumped the whole bucket over his chest, bed be damned.

He dragged Bethany in to try different forms of magic to set off the spell: mild subsets of fire, ice, lightning, and force. She knew only the basics of each, but he wouldn't want her to get creative, anyway, not when his healer was the test subject and wouldn't be able to fix anything afterwards.

Fenris got involved, as well, mostly unwillingly, lighting his marks near the mage's body at Hawke's request to draw on the Fade and perhaps attract Justice's attention. When that didn't provoke a response, either, the elf rolled his eyes at Hawke's panicked devotion, at the way his eyes remained trained on Anders' face no matter what else happened in the room, but left quietly, further convinced that such attachment could only end in sorrow.

The great warrior even tried bleeding him, bleeding them both. It was blood magic that caused this, so blood itself would only make sense, right? He tried himself first, of course, used a shallow cut on his own forearm to dab his own blood on Anders' forehead, on his lips, and then carefully cleaned it off with a rag. Reluctantly, he tried the same with Anders' blood, and was strangely relieved when that wasn't the solution, either.

Several days passed in this manner, exploring more and more outrageous theories, Hawke dribbling water into Anders' mouth and turning him from side to side out of some vague memory of a lecture on bedsores, but unable to do much more to keep him alive when he wouldn't _move_. His companions were sympathetic, but ultimately ineffectual.

With an exhausted, frustrated sigh, Hawke sank down to his knees at the side of his bed. Despite everything, Anders remained terrifyingly still, faint breathing the only sign he was still present. "Please," he whispered, not for the first or even the tenth time. "Just... come back. It's been days, love. You could - you haven't eaten - I'm worried... _please_."

Leaning forward, Hawke squeezed his eyes shut and pressed his lips to his lover's, chastely, but desperately. It was a bit strange, kissing an unconscious person, their lips slack and unresponsive, but it was the only thing he had left, and he clung to the illusion that he could feel that mouth quiver and begin to move.

*

Anders awoke gradually, confused but grateful to be finally pulled from Justice's arms in the Fade. Not that he hadn't enjoyed their time together, but both him and Justice being present was an unusual experience, and he wasn't sure how much time had passed, except that he was sure it had been far too long. Justice awoke with him, and they easily sank back into their previous configuration with quite a bit more confidence and understanding.

The first thing he noticed was how weak and stiff he felt, twitching an arm automatically, and then repeating it consciously, to test his body. The second thing he noticed was hot lips against his, the scratch of a beard across his chin, and wetness - tears? - dripping onto his face. "...Hawke?" he murmured into the kiss, voice raw and unused, and then coughed in an attempt to clear it.

His lover jerked back from him, eyes wide, expression open and shocked and full of disbelieving hope _._ Anders took a deep breath, filling his lungs with the stale air of a room shut up for too long, and coughed again, realizing just how dry his throat was. "...water?"

"Y-yeah, of course," Hawke stuttered out, scrambling to his feet to fetch the glass he'd been using previously to try to get some water down Anders' throat. Staring in disbelief, his mouth ran away with him to blurt out, "A kiss? All this time and all I had to do was _kiss_ you?"

Sweet, blissful liquid, tepid and bland as it was. Anders swallowed, happy to be recoating his mouth with moisture, and then asked, "How long? I wasn't sure, in the Fade - how long was I out?"

"Three days," Hawke breathed, still staring. " _Anders._ You're all right." He laughed, a short, delighted sound. "I can't believe it."

Quirking a smile, Anders began shifting over to allow Hawke onto the bed with him, and groaned as he realized quite how sore and stiff his muscles were. Still, his healer's mind noted that he could have been much worse off, given three days of inactivity, and felt a wave of gratitude towards both Hawke's attentions and his Warden fortitude. "Come here," he grit out, flexing back and leg and hand muscles which had briefly forgotten how to exist.

"Gladly," Hawke smiled, climbing onto the bed to join his lover. He passed strong hands over Anders' shoulders, and the mage made a soft huff of pleasure, relaxing happily into the beginnings of a massage.

"So, love," Anders sighed, "tell me your story and I'll tell you mine. I got to speak to Justice, for the first time in far too long. You must have some interesting things to say."

"You have no idea," Hawke rolled his eyes, giddy with relief. "How did I try to wake you up? Let me count the ways."


End file.
